


Psych

by lovelymalum



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Cute, Depression, Drug Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lashton - Freeform, Light Smut, Love Story, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More tags as story goes on, Psych - Freeform, Roommates, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, Triggers, basically Ashton knows he's gay but Luke doesn't, but eventually he figures out, cute fluff, happiness, i thought of this at 3am and thought it was a good idea, idk what im doing anymore, lashton is in love, lashton with a side of malum, lotta gayness, malum, psychiatric institution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelymalum/pseuds/lovelymalum
Summary: Ashton Irwin has been in Sea Pines Psychiatric Institute for Mentally-Troubled Youth (Sea Pines, for short) for three weeks now, which was longer than most. He didn't seem to want to cooperate with his therapists or get involved during group activities, which made his release far-fetched.Ashton needed inspiration to want to get better, and, once Luke becomes his roommate, he suddenly finds his inspiration.





	Psych

“Irwin,” Elijah (the “hall-monitor” of my wing) hissed through the doorway at me, “Your new roommate will be here any minute. Get this place cleaned up!” I knew why he was frustrated; he'd been asking me for days now to get the unoccupied part of my room cleaned out. The truth was, I didn't want to have a roommate. I enjoyed having it all to myself.

“Then just send him to a different room,” I sighed, flipping through the comic book I was reading. I hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but I'd never been a lucky person.

“That's not going to happen, Ashton. This is the only room with an open bed in this wing. If you don't get this room clean by the time he gets here, I'm going to have to take ten points away from your score,” he warns. This gets my attention. See, here in Sea Pines, you arrive here having a score of zero. You don't get to leave until you have a score of a hundred. I didn't cooperate at all when I first arrived, which was nearly three weeks ago, and my score is only at fifteen. I can't afford to get ten points taken away; I needed to get out of here.

“Fine, okay. I'll get it cleaned up,” I relent, and Elijah sends me a grin before backing out of the room. I groan as I pull myself off of my bed and begin to put stuff away. The room wasn't even dirty, per say. It was just cluttered. I didn't put my clothes in the closet like I was supposed to, and paperwork from my various therapy sessions were scattered about. I wanted to just throw away all of the papers I received, but on visiting day, I was supposed to show them to my mom.

It only took me half an hour to get it organized, and after that, it was time for a therapy session with my favorite doctor, Isaac. He demanded that I call him by his first name, because it seemed more personal. I had to agree; I had no problem opening up to Isaac about any of my problems, and, in fact, he's the one that granted me with my fifteen points. No other doctor would award me points for simply sharing a little about my childhood.

I waited by the nurses station for an escort to Isaac's office. Since I hadn't reached thirty points yet, I couldn't walk myself to any of my appointments. At first, I ignored that rule and walked myself anywhere I wanted to go, but now that I was trying to get out, I needed to behave. I missed my life back home; my friends, my mom, my siblings.

“You ready to go, Ashton?” Claire, a sweet blonde who appeared way too young to be a registered nurse, asked as she rounded the corner. I nod, and together we walk in silence to the therapy wing of the building.

“So, Ashton, let me just check my notes to see where we left off last time,” Isaac told me as he peered at his legal pad over the top of his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he cleared his throat, “you were just getting into your thirteenth birthday.” 

My throat goes dry and I feel my palms going sweaty. I knew I needed to talk about this, but it was something I'd never shared with anybody and I was nervous about doing so. I knew he would judge me and view me differently, hell maybe he would even think I'm crazy, but if I was going to get better, I would need to talk about it.

Before I speak, I begin trying to collect my thoughts. What was I going to tell? What would I leave out? Would he tell my mom? I didn't know where to begin, and my thoughts were all cluttered and overlapping. I steal a glance at Isaac and he's watching me intently. He was being patient, not rushing me, and allowing to tell stories on my own terms. This is why I was closer to him than any other doctor here.

“It was four years ago, but I still remember it too vividly,” I mumble, “But I've never talked about it before.”

“Take your time, Ash. I can extend the session today if we need to. Don't push yourself before you're ready.” I could feel Isaac's eyes on me, and I knew I needed to just take a deep breath and let everything out. I would feel better if I told.

“It was actually the weekend before my thirteenth birthday,” I say shakily, “and I was celebrating on that Saturday since my actual birthday fell on a weekday. My whole family was coming over and so were all of my friends. I was convinced it was going to be the best day of my life.”

“Then what happened?” Isaac nudged the story along gently once I'd paused for a break.

“The party was supposed to start at around five, and before it started, my mom was rushing around to get everything set up. Well, my mom remembered that nobody picked up the cake, so my dad-” my voice gets caught in my throat at just the mention of my father, but I force myself to keep going, “My dad, he offered to get it. He said he still needed to get me a present too, so he went.

“On his way out the door, he called me after him, told me he loved me and that he was sorry that he couldn't handle so much responsibility, and he was gone. Looking back on it now, I know what he meant by that. It meant that he was running off and wasn't coming back. I guess karma payed him back for that one,” I chuckle dryly.

“What do you mean, Ashton? What happened to your dad?” Isaac's pen was half an inch away from the notepad, telling me he'd been taking careful notes the entire time.

“We got a call only half an hour after he'd left. It was from the cops. He'd been speeding, veered off the road, and hit a tree. He was dead on contact.” the words I was speaking should've affected me more than they did, but by this point in our conversation, I was completely numb to the world. 

“And is that how you felt back then? That your father died because karma wanted to get revenge on him?” He asked curiously, setting his pad of paper down for this one.

“Of course not,” I scoffed, “i didn't even understand what had happened or what he was planning on doing until I was older.”

“What about now, Ashton?” he presses, “now that you do understand, how do you feel about it?”

“Well,” I struggle to find the right words, “It's hard to feel sympathetic for someone that was planning on hurting you the entire time.”

Isaac nods thoughtfully and writes something down. I'd always been curious about what was in that notebook; I hoped he would let me read it when I was discharged.

“I think that's a very brave way to look at it, Ashton,” he tells me with a small smile.

“Brave?” I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly. I wasn't sure why it was considered brave; it's the only way I can look at it that doesn't cause me to break down and miss the man.

“Of course. Coping mechanisms are always brave. Instead of handling your father's death with pain or sadness, you built this wall of 'tough-guy' up. I think that's one of the bravest things a person can do,” he looks at me over his glasses and sets his pen down. I could tell he was waiting for me to continue.

“Since I thought that he was leaving to get my cake and my present, I blamed myself for his death. I thought that if I wasn't so selfish and didn't have a birthday party and if I hadn't demanded a store-bought cake, that he would still be alive. That's when all of this began,” I lower my eyes and focus my attention on a loose strand of thread on my jeans. I couldn't make eye contact as I told him the next part.

“All of what, Ashton? What began?” I could hear him lift his notepad once more, and I could picture him hovering his pen over it, anxiously waiting on me to continue speaking. I didn't doubt the compassion Isaac felt for me, but it did get a bit uncomfortable watching him write stuff down about me that I wasn't even allowed to read. 

“I thought that I had to punish myself for 'causing my dad's death'. I know now that it wasn't my fault, but back then, when you're that young, that's the only way you can see it. It's stupid, I know,” I chuckle dryly, trying to convey the message that talking about all of this doesn't affect me, though I could tell that I was failing miserably.

“What do you mean, 'punish' yourself? How did you punish yourself?”

“In any way that I could. I started out snapping rubber bands on my skin. I would do it so hard that it would leave welts. But after a couple of months, that wasn't enough anymore. I moved on from that to pinching myself. I'd pinch my thighs until I bled, and then I'd pick the scabs before the wounds had healed just to feel more pain. At this point, it had gone past wanting to punish myself. I'd just started enjoying the feeling of pain, and another couple of months later, the pain of pinching myself didn't hurt enough.” I stole a glance at Isaac, trying to decipher any judgment on his face, but since I didn't see anything other than concern and compassion, I allowed myself to continue.

“That's when I started cutting, which soon turned to burning. Those two things were my saviors; I couldn't go a day without cutting or burning myself. Sometimes, when I was craving a lot of pain, I'd cut over burns. It got so bad that I started running out of space on my arms and legs.” I admitted the last sentence as an afterthought and I couldn't make myself look up to meet Isaac's eyes.

 

“And what did people say about your wounds, Ashton? When people noticed, did they respond negatively?” I thought back, trying to remember if anybody had even found out.

“Nobody saw them,” I glance up this time, “I wore hoodies and long jeans all of the time. I was ashamed of them.”

“Ah,” Isaac hums as he takes notes, “What about now? I see you're still wearing a long sleeve shirt. Are you still ashamed of your scars today?”

My face goes red and I pull the sleeves of my shirt down so far that they cover even my fingertips. Of course I was still self-conscious of my scars. They were humiliating; everybody that had ever seen them judged me. Though none ever said anything, you could see it in their eyes.

“Not ashamed,” I mumble, “Just embarrassed. Nobody understands why I did it or what I was going through. They just think I'm crazy.” it was weird explaining all of this to another person; these were all thoughts I'd always kept to myself.

“They think you're crazy because they don't understand, Ashton. If you'd open up to more people and explain what you're going through then I think they'd treat you better,” Said Isaac, placing the cap of his pen between his teeth.

We sit in silence because I don't know how to respond to him. Maybe he was right, but he'd never been in that situation. He didn't understand what it was like, and I couldn't help him to understand. This was something you had to genuinely experience in order to grasp the severity of the subject.

“I hear you're getting a roommate,” Isaac changes the subject, “Are you excited about that?”

“As if,” I scoff, “Having a little bit of privacy is the only thing that has been keeping me sane here.”

Isaac thinks for a moment before responding with, “Well, let me work something out. I'll arrange his therapy sessions so that there at different times than yours. That way, you'll still get some privacy during his therapy appointments. Do you think that'll help?”

I nod but don't respond, and instead point at the clock. Isaac nods.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Ashton. I think that this was a very productive session. Thank you for opening up to me.” Isaac stands and shakes my hand, just as he does at the end of every session.

“Can you call Claire to get her to escort me back to my room?” I ask, also standing to my feet.

“I'll tell you what, Ashton,” Isaac pulls a yellow slip of paper from his desk, “how about I write a note saying that I think you can escort yourself to and from your appointments with me? You'll still need a nurse to walk with you to other places, but I think you can handle getting yourself to and from my office.”

“Thank you, Isaac,” I say, taking the note from him when he finished scrawling his message across it.

“Give this to the nurse at the nurse's station. And also give her –“ he pulls another slip of paper with a large number five inscribed in it, “This. I think you deserve five more points for today's session.”

I leave his office feeling pleased. I now have twenty points, which is only eighty away from being discharged. Sure, it would still take a while, but I was getting closer. And, hey, I really did feel better after talking to Isaac. It felt good to finally be able to open up.

I wanted to take my time on the walk back to the nurses station to check out from my session, but I didn't want to abuse my newfound freedom. It could easily be taken away, and I did not want that. So, I walked with urgency to the hallway my room was in, grinning when Claire was still sitting behind the desk. She was my favorite nurse.

“Ashton?” she questions as I approach her, “Why didn't Doctor Roberts call me to escort you back?” I hand her the note and rock on the balls of my feet as she reads it. She smiles and nods, seeming to silently congratulate me.

“And that?” she questions, pointing at the slip of paper granting me more points. I'd forgotten about it already, so I was glad that she remembered.

“Five more points,” I tell her as I hand it over, and, again, she gives me the 'congratulations' smile. She pulls out a manila envelope with my name on it and drops both pieces of paper in before turning around to the dry-erase board located behind the desk. This board kept track of the points of the patients in this hallway, and the larger board next to it tracked the patients therapy sessions. It seemed to be a pretty flimsy method, but surprisingly, no patient has messed with the boards.

Claire smudged away the clumsily-written '15' next to my name, and carefully replaced it with a '20'. I felt my heart speed up as I realized that there was a new name on the board under mine. Luke. He must be my new roommate. There was a 0 scrawled next to his name, and it made me feel better knowing I was no longer in last place. 

“You can go to your room now, Ashton. You have an hour until dinner, and then you have Group at six-thirty.” I nod my head and retreat to my room. I hesitate before opening the door, hoping the new guy, Luke, is in a therapy session. I knew I had to meet him at some point, but after my heartfelt session with Isaac, I wasn't in the mood for it.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself before slowly opening the door. There was a figure laying on the spare bed – Luke's bed – facing the wall. I could tell he wasn't sleeping because he flinched slightly at the sound of the door opening. 

I hoped he would stay facing the wall and wouldn't speak to me. I didn't want to get to know him. I didn't want to deal with him. Unfortunately, luck must not have been on my side. Luke began rolling over. Before he was facing me, however, I turned my back to him, hoping he'd get the hint. 

I sat down on my bed, facing the wall, my back to the rest of the room. I pulled my comic book from under my pillow and opened to a random page, not focusing on the words, but wanting to appear busy.

“Um, hey,” the boy spoke, ignoring my not-so-subtle hinting at the fact that I wanted to be left alone, “I'm Luke. I guess I'm your new roommate.” I sighed, hoping he couldn't hear me, before slowly turning to face him.

As soon as his eyes hit mine, my breath was taken away. Luke was by far the most gorgeous boy I'd ever seen in my life, and I had to share a room with him. This was going to be torture.


End file.
